


Anders, How Could You?

by drkm2000



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, So much angst, act 3 ending, anders messed up, apparently I wanted more pain, so i made some more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drkm2000/pseuds/drkm2000
Summary: "You aren’t a monster, Anders!” And with that last phrase, the first tear fell from Hawke’s face onto the dusty street of Lowtown. Quietly, brokenly, he continued, “Though, between this and shattering the heart of the man you claim to love, you’re coming awfully close.”Do you like heartbreak and thinking about how much of a walking tragedy Anders is, especially if romanced? Did you, like me, think that Hawke took Anders' actions way too well on an emotional level?Well then, ladies and gentlemen, you've come to the right place! Here you will find a little over 1,000 words' worth of the scene where you determine Anders' fate.(rated T for swearing)





	Anders, How Could You?

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I texted my sister that I was doing this, she texted back, "I love you, but you are so fucking emo."  
> Make of that what you will.  
> That said, enjoy!  
> (Or maybe you won't)  
> (You probably won't)

“Those of you that choose to join me, go on ahead,” Hawke said to his friends. “I need a minute.” Surprisingly enough, they all went, Varric taking the lead with a nod.

            Anders began, “There isn’t anything you can say that I haven’t already said to myself. I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this. This is the justice all mages have awaited.”

            Hawke wasn’t sure which was worse, the fact that Anders wasn’t looking at him, or the fear of Anders looking him dead in the eye and talking to him calmly. “So _this_ is the will of _justice_ , is it?”

            “When Justice and I joined, we became one. It is our will. We strived for it as one.”

            “If you had just _told me_ , Anders, I could have-“ Hawke shook his head and started fidgeting.  “No, I couldn’t, I really couldn’t have understood, I _still_ don’t understand.”

            “I knew you probably wouldn’t. Just like I knew the consequences of my actions. If I pay with my life, at least Justice would be free.”

            “Anders, how could you…. I don’t… “ Hawke’s entire being trembled, and he tried very hard not to fall apart. “This is essentially _terrorism_ , Anders. I hope you realize that. You hurt people to scare them and made it symbolic enough to make someone do something. There could have been fucking _children_ in there, Anders!”

            “I know.”

            “And stop that!” He came around to same side of the box as Anders. Grabbing the front of the apostate’s robes, Hawke yanked him off the box and forced their eyes to meet, amber to brown. His hands shook. His heart shook. Everything shook, even his voice. “You’re doing that stupid self-deprecating thing again where you internalize everything and don’t fucking show your true feelings for the longest fucking time and I hate it because I know you see yourself as a monster sometimes and _you aren’t a monster_ , _Anders_!” And with that last phrase, the first tear fell from Hawke’s face onto the dusty street of Lowtown. Quietly, brokenly, he continued, “Though, between this and shattering the heart of the man you claim to love, you’re coming awfully close.”

            Anders’ lip twitched, and his eyebrows drew together in a way Hawke knew meant he had gotten to the apostate somehow. He threw his love back on the box, watched as the force drove the breath out of Anders’ lungs, and then pivoted and paced quick, short bursts, little more than shifting weight and turning. His hands sloppily wiped at his wet cheeks; he swallowed hard.

            “And another thing, Anders,” he said. He opened his mouth to speak, lost his words, then tried again. “For all you told me of Templars using love against people, _you_ —you---you---Tell me, honestly: How much of it was a lie? How long was it until the line ‘if you love me, you’ll do this’ entered your mind?”

            Anders, looking almost as distraught as the gallows statues, started, “Hawke-“

            “No, don’t answer that,” Hawke sniffed. “I don’t want to know. I should just shut up and…”

            Hawke took out his knife and stared at it. He knew he should do it. Maker’s breath, he knew he should have _wanted_ to do it, been happy to, even. Someone had to answer for all the deaths caused and being caused by the explosion, and why not let it be the guilty party?

            But, as Hawke looked at that man, that man who had enraptured him, body and soul, with his great passion and stupidly brilliant naming ideas and borderline unhealthy obsession with cats that Hawke found exceedingly endearing, his heart wept, and he just...

            “I can’t do this.”

            He threw the blade somewhere away from him; fuck if he knew precisely where. Then, the Champion of Kirkwall, Garrett Hawke, fell onto the box beside the blonde apostate, put his hurting head in his hands, and sobbed. He didn’t want to deal with this. He wasn’t even thirty yet. He was supposed to be falling in love with a pretty lady, settling down, and thinking of having kids. He wasn’t supposed to feel like the only thing holding this shitshow of a city together against open warfare.

            And yet here he was.

            A hand rubbed his back, a small surge of a rejuvenation spell sending fresh energy through his veins. He leaned to the side and buried his face into those stupid emo-as-fuck black feathers, drinking in the combined smells of Anders’ clinic, the Amell Estate, and something else that he couldn’t place at the moment but was just so _Anders_. His lover didn’t say anything, just kept rubbing his back in small, soothing circles, and they stayed like that until Hawke had control of himself again.

            He wiped the tears from his eyes eventually, and they sat in silence for a moment longer. Anders took a breath and started, “Love-“

            But Hawke really didn’t want to hear it. He swiftly grabbed Anders’ face, kissed him hard, and then drew back, shaking his head and looking him dead in the eyes. “I still love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I shouldn’t, but I do, and I probably always will. That said, you are an absolute, _absolute_ fucking idiot.”

            Anders looked back at him in utter confusion at his flip-flopping, but his mind was already drifting to the damn Gallows and the mess awaiting the Champion. The mess where he would stand with his fellow mages, no matter how hard Meredith or Carver tried to convince him otherwise.

            Suddenly, he got an idea.

            “Alright. You want to protect mages, love?” He got up off of the box, cleared his throat, rubbed the snot off of his face with one hand, and extended the other to the blonde apostate. “Because there’s a whole tower’s worth that’s about to be killed because of you and Meredith. So? You in?”

Those sad amber eyes stared at him, then his hand, and then they got a little bit of light back in them. Slender fingers reached into his, and Hawke pulled Anders up beside him.

“Always.”

And, after dashing his favorite red kaddis across his own face and Anders’, the Champion of Kirkwall and the mage that blew up the Chantry ran, hand in hand, to whatever bullshit would meet them at the Gallows.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you thought by leaving either a kudos or a comment!


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